


Analog Revenge

by hiraeyeths



Category: jacksepticeye, jacksepticeye egos - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: 80s AU, French!Marvin, Gen, German!Henrik, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraeyeths/pseuds/hiraeyeths
Summary: A simple mistake ends up in disaster.





	1. Prolouge

The stark bright lights of the small, cramped clinic burned into his eyes as he waited. The smell of bland medicine filled his nose as he tapped his foot and scratched at the ridges on his dark denim jeans. The stock tune that tinged away in the background did nothing to fill his empty, lonely thoughts. He was worried about what the doctor was eventually going to do to him. He _would_ do something, right? No one could be trusted nowadays. 

Henrik von Schneeplestein, his doctor, was friendly but distant. He never shared more than a few surface level things about him. He seemed nice enough, giving the man encouragement to keep living and that life would get better.

Things never got better.

"Here is your prescription, friend!" chimed Henrik from the other side of the pristine, white counter.

"Thanks..." He droned. He took the handmade prescription and left without much of a second thought.

The day was sunny, and clear. Cool enough for a person clad in heavy black clothes like he was to be comfortable, but warm enough for the sun on his face to feel nice on his pale, sallow skin. Pill bottle in his jacket and his hands tucked away in the pockets of his pants. He sighed, not knowing what to do with his life or his time. 

He was so bored with his miserable life. He was bored with his miserable friends. He was bored. But he wanted to keep going. To try for a better day. That's what he went to Henrik for, after all! To get his antidepressants. He wanted to keep going. For another chance. A better day that may come sooner than he thinks.

He takes a pill dry and sighs and stands. A little dizzy-..   
He takes a step- Nausea--   
A hand grabbed his arm to stabilize him- A helper. Jackieboy Man, he called himself. Jackie liked to help. 

Jackie smiled.

Jackie left.

He held his head in his hands and stumbled into an alleyway- nearly throwing up from the sudden movement. He thumped himself onto the dirty, grimy floor of the alley, covered in trash and discarded electronics-- VHS tapes, ruined computers and TV's. He held onto his head and his stomach, a simple attempt to try placate his churning stomach and his pulsing head. To no avail.

He felt his throat closing up- like something was blocking it. He was getting desperate. He wanted to be free! He wanted to _**BREATHE**!_   
Through his fading vision he scrambled to grab a shard of glass from a broken television to free himself in a way only a desperate man would think of.

He turned the sharp end of the shard against his neck and ripped against the bubble that was quickly growing within him.

He did not feel freedom. He felt a moment of pain. A searing, short-lived pain from his throat to his brain and to his whole fading body.

He faded... slowly. 

He could only think of what could have been. 

What could have happened if this didn't.

His sight darkened.. his breathing slowed, raspy and rough.

He went limp.

And then he was awake again. He felt charged with an energy he had never felt before. He stood up and went on his way. 

He knew what happened... there was poison in those antidepressants. There must have been something in those antidepressants.

Those antidepressants.

Antidepressants.

** His name was Anti. **


	2. The Doctor

It was a few good days later before the body had been found. By then it was cold, and stiff. The eyes were bleary and out of focus, as if staring, blind, at something no one else could see in the distance.

The police had suspected a suicide, seeing the pills and shard of glass by the body's side. They left it at that. He had no family to contact. No phone to have anybody to call. No ID to identify him, and nobody ever called to identify him. They buried him on an unmarked grave. 

Nobody attended the funeral.

The newspaper published the news, in the corner where no one would see it, with the rest of the missing persons files. People read it and disregarded it; they assumed it was just another fake story to get people to buy the paper, but.. of course.. if nobody reads your clickbait story, does it really exist?

* * *

Henrik's office was often dim in the morning, his curtains holding back what would otherwise have been a deluge of bright light. It was 4:00 in the morning when the doctor's alarm went off, much to anyone-who-would-have-to-wake-up-at-4-am's dismay. Henrik slugged his way out of bed, putting on his robe to stay warm in the late fall chill. 

He took a warm shower, brushed his teeth, fixed the bird's nest that adorned his head after his restless sleep, and went to his kitchenette to make himself breakfast. Some toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs with maple syrup was his usual go-to, but other times, if he felt like it, he'd go and treat himself to maybe a doughnut or some nice french toast at a nearby breakfast joint.

That didn't happen very often. 

Today, his toaster decided it didn't want to toast his bread. At all. It was cold the entire time, despite it being plugged in, but Henrik didn't have time to fiddle with it. Not today.

 _"Alright."_ he thought to himself, letting out a sigh. _"Just bacon and eggs..."_

He cooked his favourite honey ham bacon and made more eggs than he usually would to make up for the toast, doused them both in syrup, and went on with his day, eating his food and putting his work clothes on and watching the news on his tiny tube TV.

His favourite turtleneck was missing. His room was cold. Everything was cold... He looked in his dirty clothes pile, and there it was. Shame. He didn't like to wear dirty clothes. 

He layered up more than usual. The forecast was going to be cool, of course, but his turtleneck usually accounted for most of his insulation. Everything seemed colder than it usually would be...

The stairwell to the storefront was dark. 

"Gott. Zhe lights vent out. Need to get zhem replaced..." He huffed, and continued, his bespectacled eyes straining to see the door only a few inches in front of him.

His day went on normally for the most part. He sat at the counter, reading the newspaper, or a magazine. Anything, really. His days were long, drawn out and dull. Similar to his life. He had his returning patients, of course. One was Jameson Jackson, a man who was riddled with awful anxiety and often came to Henrik for help.

Henrik had taken a fondness to the man, mostly because he was so unique compared to the others. He was selectively mute and usually wrote down his order or used basic sign language to speak. Henrik took it upon himself to learn some just for him. They even had each other's numbers, although Jameson didn't call much, of course. That's okay.

Henrik considered them friends. Acquaintances at the very least. Jameson let Henrik call him "JJ", even! That's gotta count for something.

JJ didn't come that day. He didn't have anything to do there. Henrik wasn't upset by this fact or anything, no! Just.. wanted company.

The light above him was flickering as the sun set that day, much to Henrik's dismay. He enjoyed people watching, as his store was right on a major attraction. A street performer, named Marvin the Magnificent would be out performing every week or so, and people always crowded to see him. Henrik had personally never gone to one of the shows. He didn't really see the appeal but it was nice to see groups of people with paper cat masks walk by his little medicine shop, carrying cotton candy or popcorn, talking excitedly to one another.

One man seemed to always pass by. Henrik noticed him a lot more often now. The dates and times would always be posted in the paper, and, like clockwork, that man would pass by the store, tiny notebook in hand and hat turned backwards.

"I vonder vhat his name is..."


	3. The Magician

"Ah! Chase! A sweet name. Come on up!" The magician called, his voice accented with a bit of French. 

"I promise it will not be a 'ard trick at all! Just follow my instructions and everything will be okay."

* * *

Chase had not been expecting this. Not at all. He never had any expectations besides coming to the show, seeing Marvin the Magnificent do his wonderful magic on the makeshift stage, and then that be it! Marvin rarely asked for audience interaction anyways, and with the crowd of people he always attracted it was unlikely for him to get picked anyway. 

But here he was. Standing next to him. Card in one hand, sharpie in the other.   
_Freaking the hell out._

His mind was overflowing with thoughts. "Oh god I'm actually up here with him.", "His cologne smells so nice oh my god", "He's so cute I could literally kiss him right now oh my god", "OH GOD HE'S TALKING TO ME AND LOOKING AT ME FUCK" and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" were most of what was going through his head. 

Marvin continued his instructions for the trick, "And now for this trick, I need you, dear Chase, to write something important on this card!" He chuckled giving a sly smirk to the American beside him and handed him a playing card. 5 of hearts. 

Chase thought for a moment and had a split second idea. Phone number. He wrote his digits down in his sloppy but legible handwriting. That was something important right? Marvin did the same with his card, writing his loopy cat-themed signature onto it and putting it on the deck along with Chase's.

"What next Mr. Magnificent?" inquired Chase, trying his best to be polite. 

"Ahh.. Just call me Marvin, Chase~! No need for such formalities." Marvin nudged Chase with his elbow with a chuckle. He took the cards, showed them to the audience and folded them into quarters carefully.

"Open wide Chase~!" Hummed Marvin, as he placed the card with Chase's phone number into his mouth.

"Now. This trick is called the French Kiss. Not because I am French and you get to kiss me, sadly." He folded his card and popped it into his mouth as well. He tapped a gloved finger to his cheek and stuck it out for Chase to kiss.

"Oh god I get to kiss him I get to kiss his face oh my god oh my god aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!" Chase's mind ran wild with thoughts of what it would feel like, and all the while, he stood there kinda smiling like an idiot. 

"Go ahead and kiss, Chase! I won't bite, promise." Chase snapped out of it, and gave Marvin a peck on the cheek. His face nearly beet red, he took the card out of his mouth as Marvin told him to and opened it to find... Marvin's signed card! 

Meanwhile Marvin took his card out of his mouth, and saw Chase's number on it. He smiled to himself before flashing it to the audience with a bow.

"Now we've swapped cards!" Marvin announced triumphantly, the crowd erupting into cheers!  
He turned to Chase, and motioned back into the crowd, and Chase gladly did so. He didn't much care for such a spotlight.

The show continued on with a few more tricks as was normal, and Chase eventually went home, happy about his day and how he got to spend it doing something he'd been wanting to do for.. months.

* * *

Marvin slumped down onto his couch; another long day performing. 

At least he had gotten that cute guy-- Chase's-- number out of it! Should he call? Did he even put it there to be called? Was it just the first thing that came to mind for him?

Only one way to find out I suppose, and that would be to call him.

He pulled the card out of his pocket, his soft hands running over the folds he put in it that day, and read the number off again, and grabbed the phone off his wall to dial it in. Each number was dialed slowly, and with Marvin double, triple, and quadruple checking before finally calling...

Ringing... ringing... ringing...

"Hello?" came a voice from the other side.

"Chase? 'ello?" Marvin called from the other side, his accent thicker than usual.

"M-Marvin-- the Magnificent--?!" 

"The one and only-- Listen Chase. I-..." Marvin hesitated a little. "Je t'aime."

"Huh--" was all Marvin heard before he hung up. What was he doing, flirting with a fan?! Goodness... Let's hope he doesn't know French eh?

* * *

Chase sat with the receiver up to his ear, dumbfounded.

He had _called_. 

Marvin _actually_ called. Called him! And said something in French-- That's all he could guess for what the language was. Wouldn't make much sense for it to be anything else. 

Chase hoped Marvin would call back, but he didn't for another week... though, through it all, Chase stayed hopeful. As the next performance approached, Chase prepared what he was going to do after the show. 

He was going to just.. try to talk to him! Ask what he had called for last week, what he had said in French.. things like that. Though as the moment approached, from him walking to Marvin's usual spot for performances, to watching him do his usual tricks and seeing the crowd disperse once again-- his nerves got to him. He had changed his mind again. Back up plan. 

Chase scribbled something on a back page in his notebook and tore it out, tapping the magician's shoulder before folding it up and handing it to him when he turned around with a startled, "'ello?--"

Chase ran off as fast as he could, passing by that seemingly open clinic on his way back to house.

* * *

Marvin looked at the hastily ripped piece of paper that had been thrust into his hand by Chase. 

" _Call me again. I'd like to talk to you again. -CAB_ "

The handwriting was quick, almost last minute, and done in blue pen. He would, of course call back when he got home.

The process was the same, as he took the card in his hand, dialing each number carefully, not out of worry for getting it wrong, but moreso to give him time to think about what he was going to say. 

Ringing... ringing once again. He picked up a lot faster this time.

"Hello? Marvin?"

"Oui- Yes, It's me Chase... What did you want to talk about..?"


End file.
